


The Right Thing

by arrafrost



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Potential spoilers for Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrafrost/pseuds/arrafrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek hopes he's doing the right thing by driving everyone away to protect them, especially Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [Aidi's wonderful comic](http://arrafrost.tumblr.com/post/53983491802/indecentdrawer-potential-to-spoil-season)

"You’re a spineless bastard, you know that?" Stiles ground out from gritted teeth, his eyes burning with despair and hatred. "You push and you push and the whole time you’re hiding away in your cowardly pit of brooding and angst because you can’t be bothered to let anyone in!"

Derek stood there, silent, taking everything Stiles gave him without flinching. 

"I hate it, Derek. I hate it so much because I can’t… I can’t hate people the way you do."

"Just go." Inside Derek’s resolve was crumbling, but his voice was level and straightforward.

"You’re not even willing to try, are you? Everything you ever said to me was a bold faced lie." Stiles was rooted in his place despite the tears Derek could smell forming behind his eyes. Stiles refused to spill them, he wouldn’t show them in front of Derek right now, not like this, not when he had something to prove. 

"Leave," the word was harsh on Derek’s lips, like sandpaper. It didn’t belong there, not when he was talking to Stiles. “I don’t want you."

He saw the flash in Stiles eyes when the words hit him, stabbing deeper than anything Derek had said that night. Derek held his breath, not able to stand watching the dagger he’d shoved into Stiles’ heart twist and pull. 

Stiles inhaled through his nose, closing his eyes tightly as he lifted his head.

The room was tense and empty as Stiles composed himself, neither aware of how Derek’s claws were piercing his own palms from how tightly his hands were clenched at his sides.

When Stiles exhaled and turned his gaze back to Derek, his golden brown eyes were glossy and full of resentment. “Go to hell, Derek."

The worst part was… Stiles meant it. He could hear it in the tone of his voice, from the thumping of his wild heart beat, and he could smell it on him through the salty sting of his tears that fell down his cheek once he turned from Derek’s sight and walked away.

Derek nearly lost his resolve when Stiles stopped abruptly in the doorway. He didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything, all he did was lift the sweater he was wearing -  _Derek’s_ sweater - over his head and toss it to the ground. His unsure footsteps carried him out of the building but Derek didn’t move until the sound of him was gone completely. His scent… that would remain for longer than Derek would like.

From the sidelines, Cora stepped out of the shadows. Of course she’d been watching the whole thing… he’d been too preoccupied with focusing on everything Stiles that he hadn’t even know she was there. That was… that was definitely a sign. Stiles wasn’t good for him, he dulled his senses because all he wanted to breath in, hear, see was that lanky, hyperactive ball of sarcasm.

"You did the right-"

A growl pitched low, dangerous and inherently alpha escaped Derek’s lips and Cora stepped back, mouth closing immediately. She wasn’t afraid, not really; it was her instincts that made her startle. Instead of saying anything else, she rolled her eyes and turned to walk back to the training room.

Derek was left alone with the lingering scent of Stiles that he could never escape. It was on his clothes, it was in his hair, it was on the floor, the ceiling, the walls… his eyes darted across the room to the sweater that had always looked too large on Stiles’ smaller frame despite their similar height. Of course his own scent was there but more than anything it was Stiles. He’d soaked his scent into the fabric from how often he wore it, even slept in it, ever since the day he stole it from Derek and claiming that he would never return it.

His hands shook when he retrieved the matchbook from the table, striking a match as he walked over to the dark navy sweater that he barely recognized as his anymore. He hadn’t worn it in years, only saw it on Stiles and now…

Derek crouched down by the low burning flames as they spread from the hood down to the sleeves. It was better this way. It was better to cut all ties, from everyone, especially when they didn’t know about them yet. He was doing the right thing. 

He drew a shaky breath, banging his clasped hands against his forehead. He wished he could be doing the wrong thing.


End file.
